


You Can Fake It, But This Time You Won't Make It

by IWokeUpAFraud



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anger, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kinda, M/M, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, this is coping-writing tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWokeUpAFraud/pseuds/IWokeUpAFraud
Summary: Pete and Patrick were hanging out and everything was alright.Until it wasn't.When the thoughts are out to get you, they don't care who you are with.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Kudos: 11





	You Can Fake It, But This Time You Won't Make It

**Author's Note:**

> IOH era

The afternoon had been perfect. They had done so well. Cuddling, laughing and sharing each other's company, taking a break from the rest of the world in one of their houses for an entire day. The warm feelings that fill you up when you are with your loved ones ran through their systems, a loving sensation in the atmosphere that let them be so at ease with the moment and with each other. Nothing could've been better at that time.    
  
Or so he thought.   
  
"I'm not crying, I never cry!" Pete said with a slight voice crack. But he was lying, and he knew it. He cried often, what he never did was doing it in front of others. He preferred to keep his tears a secret from people, a secret that only he and himself could know about. What he didn't count on was on the physiological response that was really close to betraying him and giving away his secret to the world. Or at least what he had considered his world.    
  
"It's okay to cry. Tell me what's going on," Patrick said to him with a soft voice, not to alter him further.   
"No! Nothing, I don't need your help to fix me. Fuck, I don't even need to be fixed myself!" He shouted at him. How dare he try to pry inside his head! He could peak into his most intricate and private thoughts and sell them to the feds as far as he was concerned.   
"Y'know that's not what I meant," He approached him slowly and trying to keep his voice on a calm tone, "I'm just trying to h-"   
"No! You know what, I don't need your fucking help." Anger began to crawl onto his head."Just leave. Get the fuck out of here." Pete said loud enough to make the smaller boy flinch.    
"You don’t need to shut me off." Patrick told him. “Let me help you, please.”   
  
But he just grabbed Patrick and began pushing him toward the door, kicking him out of his house.    
"I'm not putting up with your wannabe-therapist bullshit." He said bitterly before slamming the door shut on his face.   
  
He could still hear Patrick's voice on the other side of the door and the occasional knock on the wood on attempts for him to let the boy back in. But as far as Pete knew that just wasn't gonna happen. This time he really put up a good façade for most of the day. Until things began falling down.   
  
_ "Hey, are you okay? You look kind of out of it."  _ _  
_ _ "Yeah, no I'm fine, really." It came out really weak, and Patrick could read him like a book, so he obviously wasn't buying any of it.  _ _  
_ _ "I don't believe you," Patrick said, his voice seriously sincere, "you're being really quiet. And you look like you're going to cry at any moment." He brushed his cheek with his thumb. That's when everything went to hell. _   
  
All that rage thrown unintentionally against Patrick was another way of shielding his real feelings from the world. Anger was easier to portray and explain than anxiety and depression that had been accumulating on his head for weeks.    
  
Pete knew he wouldn't be able to put up with Patrick today, not because he didn't love him or because he didn't like being around him, but because he felt not enough. Of course, he wouldn't ever tell Patrick and of course, he wouldn't cancel him either, they didn't get to spend time alone together very often, and he didn't want to ruin that. So he built up this façade of 'everything being just fine'. Sadly for him, he ended up ruining it either way, as he usually felt he did.   
  
Pete went upstairs, not wanting to keep hearing the knocking or the muffled voice of his boyfriend. He laid in the bed, going through his phone trying to distract himself from everything that had been going on on his mind up to the last moment, but to no avail. Everything just kept clouding his head.   
  
He tried listening to the heaviest music he had in his library, turning the volume as loud as he could in an attempt at drowning the voice on his head. But that also failed.    
  
He just stayed there, looking up at the ceiling. He felt like crying, his eyes begged for it. Then he heard the tapping on the window. The few puffy clouds from earlier had turned into a gray mass covering the sky, delivering droplets of water to the surface. It was as if the sky tried to make it up for his eyes, crying out all the tears he right then wasn't. He really hoped that Patrick had given up on him for today and gone home, or else he'd be getting wet from the rain, and that'd be his fault. The thought of that made him feel worse.   
  
The few hours left of the day seemed to drag on forever. He couldn't see the time for the hour to try to fall asleep to finally arrive. It's not like he was gonna get rest easily, but at least then he knew he wasn't wasting time because he wasn't supposed to do anything.    
  
The phone went off showing a notification from his boyfriend.   
_ "Hey, I'm sorry if I did anything to bother you today. I’m worried about you. I understand that you want to be alone right now. Let me know if you want to talk later. I love you" _   
  
That added up to the feeling of guilt that he had. Patrick thought it was his fault, and that he'd done something to upset him when really it was just a sick trick of his mind. And the fact that he forgave Pete for kicking him out of his house and being so understanding about it didn't help his case anymore.   
  
At this, he finally began cracking up. The night had already settled, alone at home with no one else, besides his own thoughts to torture him. His breathing became more laborious as he felt emotion grasp out of control. The tears finally escaped his eyes, his secret being spilled on the bed sheets like other countless nights.    
  
He could get off the bed and grab any of the substances lying around the house, to fuel an unhealthy addiction to cope with himself. But he was either too exhausted or too scared of it. Even a coward when it came to self-injury.   
  
He finally ended up passing out on top of his bed, with his clothes still on, the pillow slightly damp and shiny trails on his face being lit by the moonlight and streetlight coming from the crack in the curtain, as a reminder that he could pretend that he was alright and had his life under control. He could fake it, but he -very probably- wasn't gonna make it.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this fic is basically what I call 'coping-writing'. I write angsty fics to deal with my own internal angst.  
> I was going through my saved docs and found a bunch of coping-writing fics and this one made me go,"wow this is actually not terrible, I can't believe it's been just sitting here for months." So I decided to post it and really hope you people don't hate it.


End file.
